If it wasn't for Jed Hawkins--" He rose up out of the sand, his hands clenched.
"We ought to kill Jed Hawkins before we go.

It would be safer for her," he finished.
He went out, forgetting Peter, and climbed a rock-splintered path until he stood on the knob of a mighty boulder, looking off into the northern wilderness.

Off there, a hundred, five hundred, a thousand miles--was home.

It was ALL his home, from Hudson's Bay to the Rockies, from the Height of Land to the Arctic plains, and in it he had lived the thrill of life according to his own peculiar code.

He knew that he had loved life as few had ever loved it.